


doors lead to trap doors

by blessed_image (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Cheesy, Crushes, Fluff, HDSSD bc i like cheesy romances, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Short & Sweet, Which is Understandable, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), but its bc harry is miserable, but u should read it bc uh idk, i wrote this in ten minutes, like all the time always, uhh theres a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 04:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/blessed_image
Summary: He imagines what it must feel like to be looked at like that- as if there was some form of luxury in him, or even just a little bit of future someone could see in the way he leaves a room.
Relationships: Cho Chang/Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	doors lead to trap doors

When Cho told him she had already been asked to the ball, by one Luna Lovegood at that, Harry had expected that he would embarrass himself. He would turn up alone, whilst the rest of the school had a plus-one, and look like a complete and utter fool. She looked at him kindly, blindingly bright smile and soft dark eyes, and recalled that there was always someone by his side- someone who had been with Harry through thick and thin, who had always been loyal and, perhaps, would hold on tight in a more literal sense, too. He hadn’t realised what she had meant for another three hours, even when Hermione slapped his wrist and pushed him forward towards this someone. For the first time in a long time, Harry Potter truly saw Ron Weasley.

This time, there was more than just the first meeting between two young boys with no one else willing to sit with them. There was more than just one brave boy willing to risk it all for the other, and there was undoubtedly more than the desperation that was Harry reaching out for Ron as he was being dragged roughly beneath The Whomping Willow. He supposes it had always been there, the small spark that burnt the underside of his skin, but he had refused to see it for all the time it had been there. He supposes that, maybe; it just hadn’t been there at all until it was so painstakingly obvious that there was nothing in the world that could separate the two of them. Maybe, for a day or two, there were small arguments or spats or fights- but, in the finality of it all, at the very end of the longest of days, nothing could truly stop them from pulling each other in like moths to a flame. 

Maybe, this was just hope making him read between the lines of something simple and plain and completely platonic. 

But, the way Ron calls for him makes that same hope flare up and he really can’t deny how happy he looks when Harry walks over- breathless and nervous, but standing next to him despite everything. The voice inside his head, which sounds so much like Hermione he can’t help but let a small laugh escape under his breath, calls him an idiot; he should just ask, get it over with, rip off the band-aid- but, then, the Patil sisters are walking by and they look at the two of them with hooded eyes and Ron stares after them with newfound interest and-

Harry cuts off the thought, running a bony hand down the sleeve of his robe, and he imagines what it must feel like to be looked at like that- as if there was some form of luxury in him, or even just a little bit of future someone could see in the way he leaves a room. Nothing good came from thinking this way, but the hesitation still buries its roots in his psyche.

Ron must’ve seen the deep-seated misery inside of Harry; he has always managed to read him like a book- the word count on the pages minimal, short and easy for only him to see. His hand is warm, and he can feel the heat seeping through the fabric of his clothes despite the amount of layers he wears, and he breathes through his nose uneasily to prevent a content sigh from leaving him with the consequences. Ron asks him what’s wrong, Ron asks him if they should ask the sisters, Ron insists on asking the sisters, because there’s apparently no one else in the whole world that would go with either of them, and Harry feels sick. He feels tired, and like the world is ending, and just _sick_. 

He asks him, still. It’s quiet and whispered and even he could hardly hear the question- whether it was muffled by the rush of blood in his ears, or the pressure of knowing he would be rejected, he doesn’t know. Harry doesn’t dwell on it much, but Ron doesn’t look confused, so he assumes it wasn’t as inaudible as he had hoped. Because, if the words were almost silent, then he could pass it off as nothing, he could pretend he had never spoken them at all, and he could finally sleep it off. Maybe, though, Ron doesn’t look confused because he’s angry. 

He could be angry, Harry wouldn’t put the reaction past the boy, but then Ron is grinning at him like Harry just solved the mysteries to the universe; or bought him an actual copy of _Quidditch Through The Ages_ , which he should actually get on with. 

“Okay.” Ron whispers back in the firelight of the common-room, all gold and red in such a pretty way that it makes the freckles on his best friend’s cheeks stand out like stars mapping his pale skin. 

“Okay.” Harry repeats back to himself, as if he can’t believe it, watching on as Ron’s smile widens and the pieces of the puzzle fit together. 


End file.
